Tell Sherlock the War is Over
by Servant of Fire
Summary: An alternate universe story set after His Last Vow, but doesn't contain spoilers because I haven't seen season 3. John is called upon to bring Sherlock home. Rated T for drug and alcohol reference, for the Lady of the Fandoms.
1. Chapter 1

**~Tell Sherlock the War is Over~**

**For the Lady of the Fandoms.**

** Chapter One: The Wandering Jew**

John ran down the stairs at a break -neck speed. Mary was standing wide mouthed at the bottom of them.

"Ooooh, you'll fall, slow down!" she called.

"IwontI'mflyingachh!" he cried, and it sounded like gibberish, and he gave a shout, and broke his stumbling run, by taking her and spinning her over his head,

in 3 great circles.

"What? What on earth?!" Mary giggled. And John shouted, and it woke up the neighbors, and it served them well. For it was dawn now, of this day, and of a new era.

"IT'S OVER!" he cried.

And he saw the last time flash before Mary's eyes, like one's life does at its close. The last case of the mysterious and very badly misunderstood Sherlock Holmes.

And the one last case that had caused all the trouble, (and Mary and John didn't talk about that one), had lead Sherlock to doing what he did best, sacrificing himself for their safety, and getting roped into a whole lot of things, strings in a web, elsewhere in the world. Things that should have killed him, and when they did not, it only made the spiders more angry, it only woke up a "mess"(as they say in my native country) of hornets. Too many stories to tell only in this , incessant skirmishes, between men in suit jackets, wielding checkbooks and pens, glasses of vodka, blackmail,and guns-for-hire.

Mystery apoun mystery, lie apoun lie, blame apoun blame somehow always being laid on Sherlock.

Mycroft had been telling them stories about what his little brother had been up to since the most recent time he had gone away for seemingly ever.

There had been rumors Sherlock wasn't supposed to live through his adventures this time,(well,of course, that's what they always say).Rumors this last time, that however had been pretty credible. Ok,so maybe they were bordering on resounding fact.

One thing had lead to another, and somehow he got roped into a modern-day pirate war over drug smuggling.

A modern day pirate war, that got him roped into a diamond thief war. A diamond thief war, that got him roped into busting up a ring of Neo-Nazis working Europe underground to try and start World War Evermore. A fight to keep the world at peace, that had sent him falling into a "burning ring of fire, going down down down, as the flames were leaping higher" (to quote the words of an old Jonny Cash song) One thing had lead to another, until somehow Sherlock Holmes ended up in the middle of a Arizona/ Mexican border cartel war, involving the case of a missing U.S. Senator's daughter, and alot of explosives.

Just to know he was alive was enough, but to get the scoop on the stories of all the crime wars he was at the center of!... Suddenly the name of Sherlock Holmes was in the ranks, (or atleast the phonebook) with America's "Billy the Kid"(Sherlock's reputation I find to be nicer), with Lawrence of Arabia, with 007.

One day John was being told Sherlock had swam up the Rio Grande with a group of _mojados _to rescue the Senator's runaway teenage daughter from forced drug dealing, and was able to get a tip from her that helped him solve a case that lead to stopping an assasination attempt on the U.S. President.

The next day, somehow Sherlock was in Beijing, stopping a Chinese assasin from carrying out the hit he'd been hired to make on the Queen of England.

And this had once again got the attention of the English justice system, that, once again, thought maybe they had misjudged the world's only (underpaid) consulting detective.

But before they could call him, and offer the Wandering Jew a ride home, John hears, Sherlock has ended up in Africa, solving a case for a stolen dowry, to save a tribal princess from being executed, and in turn for his help, she's giving him the remains of a murdered British ambassador, that he promptly sends home in box of fashion apparel, with a note that says,"Bury him with dignity, and then forget you heard from me.-SH"

And this last case, cold for 30 years,at the heart of Europe's unrest,was what finally made the British government forgive Sherlock, and send out the beacons of hope that maybe "England's Prodigal Son" could maybe come home.

Maybe England didn't remember what Sherlock had done, or didn't even really know. And maybe, like the son that the parents have turned out on the street for his attitude and then regretted it, they were now calling him home.

But Sherlock didn't hear anybody calling, because he'd gotten roped into a case involving arranged marriages and cheating, and somebody inheriting shares to an oil well somewhere else in the Middle East, and somebody's daughter stealing(as rumor has it) somebody's diamond,that lead to somebody getting shot, that somehow(John's grasp of this story is somewhat confused ,can you tell?) ended up landing Sherlock in Turkish prison.

And it was time somebody told Sherlock that the war was over.

And the English goverment had decided that Captain John Hamish Watson would be the person to do it.

March right into Turkey,with official papers from the EU, with English backup, with whatever and whoever he might need to get him back.

John would be the one to bring him home.

Mary cried when she heard the news.

John cried too.

Heck, even Mycroft cried...


	2. Chapter 2 Turn Your Sails to Home

**Chapter 2: Turn Your Sails to Home~**

John was holding his breath. He'd been told Sherlock was in Turkish _prison._

This was a mental institution. Somewhere in a remote, old city. In an ancient Catholic convent.

With convicts , deemed too crazy for the Turkish prisons, locked behind old stoney walls, to pine away their years, in insanity, or face some latter judgement, somehow seeming sweeter.

John identified himself as a captain in the British military, an ambassador of the queen, come to fetch , as he was told to say, "The Maniac of London".

The words stung in his teeth, like salt does a wound.

He was lead by an ancient nun, who's skin had been browned by the sun,deep into the dark and winding stoney recesses of the prison for the mentally unwell, more like a living-tomb.

People screamed, and spat, and tried to knife John as he walked by. He felt his nerves rising up, like those long ago nights in Baskerville, and began to entertain thoughts of maybe the mania being induced somehow,and...

He stopped, his heart stopped, the earth stopped, the stars stopped in their eternal marching, and the rest of the solar system stopped, and now he no longer remembered or cared if the earth revolves around the sun, or the sun around the earth, or even if the rest of the Universe were to pass away in a fervent heat.

For there he was, the one he'd never been allowed to keep, just a stone's throw away.

There he was, in a cage, by a window, with the sun streaming down on him. Crouching against the ciel of the barred window he was fenced in behind. Alike a spider in his brooding thought, in the brooding shadow of raven hair fallen in matted curls over alabaster brow. Eyes ,the shade of the ocean on a clear day, were closed as if he wandered out there in said solar system, away from the dust and darkness and madness of his stoney entombment.

Never daring to hope, a slave to the wheel of events. Never daring to think of freedom, but giving of his life, so that others could keep it.

Never asking for credit or thanks. But maybe for a place to rest, a haven where blame did not reach him, somewhere where he could shake off the web-woven shroud of his damnation.

Never daring to believe that somehow the strongest love he had ever known, a love only God could fabricate, was right there at the door of his prison.

"Sherlock."

He heard his name somewhere in the palace of his mind, turned prison.

He heard the Light call him out of his own Darkness...

He would have given his shadow, would have passed like smoke, and no longer been, to preserve that light.

But such a light as John Watson, cannot be quenched.

"John."he said, opening his eyes atlast.

"You came for me..." he smiled. "But,..." his brows furrowed, "No, that isn't right. Why are you here?" he stumbled to the bars that hedged him in here, where John stood, reached through them, and took him by the lapels of the army coat he was wearing. An intense light burned in his eyes, a strain, a guilty strain he'd borne ever since the case that had caused all the trouble , the one that sent him away.

John was fighting Sherlock noticed(of course, Sherlock notices everything) and he was fighting tears himself. Fingered the fabric of the coat, clutched at him for dear life, with amazingly strong hands, despite his wasted-by-wandering frame.

"Is it safe now?...Or did you put yourself at risk?If it's the latter then..."

"No...Not that I wouldn't , for you, of course I would, I have remember?..."Now John was crying.

"They've forgiven you, finally, of all of that, atleast for now... They've decided to let me bring you home..."

"They sent you?" Confusion, flickered across his face." Is this a trap, because they know I trust you most?"

John laughed,"No...No, it's real. There's a ship sent courtesy of Her Majesty and the Navy,come to take you home. And even if it is a trap, I'm here now, by some divine slight of hand , a card God's been saving special for this round..._I've _come to take you home, Sherlock...The war is over."

And then Sherlock cried, and hugged him through the bars.

And the old nun was moved to tears, and unlocked the door,and John fed Sherlock's arms out of the bars, and pulled him through the open door, and into his arms again, not caring what the other government officials he came with might think about this.

"It's over now..." he muttered, feeling he might sneeze,his face laid in Sherlock's dusty hair.

Sherlock laughed, one high-pitched, almost hysterical laugh, and settled there, almost child-like. Not very Sherlock-like, but John had figured he'd be traumatized, and changed, hopefully for the better,by all he'd seen and done.

He laughed himself, and held him, to keep him from falling on fawn-weak legs.

"Yeah, it's over...And we're finally going rainy weather England, and out of this sun, gah!"


End file.
